Saturday, November 21, 2009


Clint was griping about the cat today.

This cat.

My Mom's cat.

He's fat and fuzzy soft. Very cuddly and needy. He's about 15 years old. My Dad found him in front of our house in the pouring rain. A teeny tiny kitten. And he grew to be a huge fur ball. A sweet fur ball, but the fur....

Let's just say wearing black pants and having a white long haired cat don't mix.

It wasn't my choice to bring him here. I didn't really have a choice. My Mom was so worried about him while she was sick. And the dog. Every single day she said she thought they were starving to death or already dead because she couldn't feed them anymore. So of course I told her I was taking care of them, not to worry.

I cried and cried after Clint did his griping. I know it wasn't directed at me. But still... just another reminder my Mom is gone. And I brought the cat here. What else was I supposed to do with him? He's afraid of noise and people, so it's not like we could just dump him off on somebody else. We are his family and I couldn't imagine abandoning him now. Not after 15 years...

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